


Touch my neck and I'll touch yours

by MemeKonGlee (MemeKonYA)



Category: Glee
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Aftermath of Violence, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon Rewrite, Drinking & Talking, Emotional Constipation, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, First Kiss, Fluff, Getting Together, Humor, M/M, Pining, Self-Indulgent, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-26
Updated: 2018-07-26
Packaged: 2019-06-16 10:22:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 15,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15434940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MemeKonYA/pseuds/MemeKonGlee
Summary: “If it isn't Betty White in the flesh. My grandmother is a fan.”“Hilarious and so fresh. Truly promising stand-up comedian material. I’d tell you to quit your day job if you had one,” is Kurt Hummel’s reply, quick and with just the right amount of bite. Then, with eyes wandering all over Sebastian's face and body, he adds, “What the hell happened to you?”It probably says something about the pain he’s in (and the amount of alcohol still flowing through his system) that he decides to be honest, instead of just telling Kurt to mind his own damned business.“Had a run-in with a jealous boyfriend.”Kurt's eyebrows rise for a second and then furrow, and he looks as though he's about to ask something, so Sebastian adds, “Notmyjealous boyfriend.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a completely self-indulgent season 6 rewrite.  
> Not beta'ed.
> 
> Check end notes for additional warnings.

“At least this can’t get any fucking worse,” he mutters under his breath, hissing when his teeth catch on his split upper lip.

“Sebastian?”

And _that_ would be why people call saying 'at least it can't get any worse’ tempting the fates. Because the universe is always up for a fucking challenge.

“If it isn't Betty White in the flesh. My grandmother is a fan.”

“Hilarious and so fresh. Truly promising stand-up comedian material. I’d tell you to quit your day job if you had one,” is Kurt Hummel’s reply, quick and with just the right amount of bite. Then, with eyes wandering all over Sebastian's face and body, he adds, “What the hell happened to you?”

It probably says something about the pain he’s in (and the amount of alcohol still flowing through his system) that he decides to be honest, instead of just telling Kurt to mind his own damned business.

“Had a run-in with a jealous boyfriend.”

Kurt's eyebrows rise for a second and then furrow, and he looks as though he's about to ask something, so Sebastian adds, “Not _my_ jealous boyfriend.”

Kurt's face clears then, although he's still letting his eyes roam over Sebastian's face with something that Sebastian would read as worry on anyone who gave a damn about him.

The words are out before he knows he's going to say them.

“What? You thought I'd gotten jumped and gay-bashed by some ball cap wearing rednecks or something?”

He regrets the words as soon as they're out.

Kurt had made the news awhile back when he’d gotten the crap beaten out of him in New York to save some other guy from the same fate, what with his daddy being congressman and everything.

He remembers the way his stomach had dropped when he saw the headline of the article on MSNBC, “Son of Ohio Congressman Burt Hummel Gay Bashed in New York City”. 

He might've never been Kurt’s biggest fan, but the feeling of having a bucket of ice cold water dropped on him had been there regardless as he clicked on the news article with slightly shaky hands, and as he pored over it with a wildly beating heart, searching for any clues on his health condition, muttering _stupid, stupid, stupid_ under his breath as he read about the circumstances of the attack, about how Kurt had—according to witnesses who wished to remain anonymous— jumped in to defend someone else.

“Sorry,” he says before Kurt can say anything himself, and then sighs, and bitch shit fuck motherfucker— that fucking _hurts_. “That whole not being a bitch thing is a work in progress.”

“I see,” Kurt replies, and under the dry tone of his words, he can tell there’s a little wry amusement. “It’s reassuring to see at least some things never change, I guess.”

It strikes Sebastian as a bit of a whimsical comment to make.

“Anyway.” Kurt continues after a second or two of awkward silence. “Let me help you up.”

He gives himself a second to think of all the ways he can decline Kurt’s offer before he finally sighs and extends a hand towards the other man, who takes it in a surprisingly strong grip before crouching a little and putting his other hand somewhere between Sebastian’s armpit and his side. 

“Ready?” He asks, and he’s frowning in concentration. Sebastian can feel the wet warmth of his breath from their proximity. 

“Yeah,” Sebastian whispers, voice hoarse.

Kurt counts to three under his breath, and on three he pulls and Sebastian pushes, until he’s up on shaky feet.

“Well, that fucking hurts like a bitch,” he says, pressing a hand to his most likely bruised ribs.

When Sebastian looks up at him, Kurt’s brow is dipped in concern, and one of his hands is hovering just over where Sebastian’s own is.

When he realizes Sebastian caught him staring, the hand drops. The dip stays.

“That— do you need help getting somewhere? You shouldn’t be driving like that.”

And the thing is— Sebastian knows this, as a pre-med student. And he might still be a haughty little shit, because it’s practically in his blood, right along with smarm and a nose for business, but even he isn’t proud enough to risk getting into a car wreck by driving in his state.

… None of that makes it any easier to swallow his pride and accept Kurt Hummel’s help, though, so he spends a couple of seconds just— just sizing Kurt up with what he hopes is a mildly unnerving and piercing look in his eyes.

Kurt, of course, doesn’t back down. Because why would he? He didn’t when Sebastian was actively trying his best to make his life hell and he was just an insecure high schooler wearing more layers than a nun. So there's no reason he would now that he is apparently none of those things anymore.

“Fine,” he drawls, finally. “If you’re so desperate to get into my car with me, I guess I’ll humor you.”

Kurt snorts.

“Don’t I feel special,” he says, and for once, the words lack a sharp edge. He just sounds— amused.

It’s— it’s a little unsettling.

“My car’s over there,” he says, and feels as though he’s rushing the words out, even though they come out _fine_.

“Lead the way,” Kurt replies, making a little flourish towards the rest of the parking lot.

 

After a couple of slow, measured, unsteady steps, Kurt just sighs and rolls his eyes at him, and forcefully shoves an arm under Sebastian’s own, making him lean his weight on him.

Sebastian bites his tongue on a disparaging comment, because the truth is he’s not a fan of being in pain, especially if he can avoid it.

 _And Hummel smells nice_ , a part of him pipes up, _he smells nice and his arms are strong and warm._

Sebastian ignores that part of him, tramples it the fuck down. It’s the same part that landed him in the situation he’s in right now, so it shouldn’t get listened to.

(At least for a while. He’s gonna need his dick sucked at some point.)

His thoughts are interrupted when his car comes into view, and Kurt bursts into laughter.

“Of course,” he says, after the worst of it has subsided, and he sounds positively gleeful. “Of course you would drive a Ferrari in _West Lima_. What is it, a 2014 FF? Is it _yellow_?”

It _is_ yellow. 

For some reason Sebastian feels the need to defend himself against unvoiced criticism, so he says, “It’s my father’s.”

“Sure it is,” Kurt says, sounding as though he’s trying to reassure a child about the existence of Santa Claus.

Sebastian scowls and unlocks the car, and Kurt helps him into the passenger side, gingerly.

 

“I don’t know what model it is,” Sebastian says once Kurt has gotten into the car himself and buckled his belt. “I’m not much of a cars guy.”

Kurt hums as he starts the car.

“Really? Would've thought that’d be right up your alley.”

“What about you? You seemed pretty sure about my car’s model and make.”

Kurt shrugs, eyes on the rearview mirror as he gets them out of the parking spot.

“I'm a mechanic’s kid. Grew up with a monkey wrench in my hand, looking at the Ferrari calendars on the walls of my dad’s garage.”

That piece of information manages to tilt Sebastian's world upside down, somehow. He has no box he can put it into. 

“Weren't you afraid of getting grease stains on your sparkly princess dresses?”

Kurt takes his hand away from the gear shift then, and slaps his arm. Hard.

Sebastian yelps.

“I’ve been wanting to do that since senior year,” Kurt says, and Sebastian gapes at him. 

Kurt doesn't even deign to spare him a short glance as he finally tears away from the parking lot and into the night, a smug smile firmly in place on his face. 

 

Kurt doesn't say anything as they reach the Smythe residence, but Sebastian can read everything he _would_ say in his face, open like a book.

He doesn't say 'it's my father's’, because that would be a stupid reaction. And anyhow, it's not like Kurt needs Sebastian to say it to know that the mansion is his parents’.

Sebastian just guides him into his preferred parking spot in front of the (yes, frankly unnecessarily huge) garage.

It's not until Kurt’s killing the engine that Sebastian realizes Kurt has no ride back. 

Kurt doesn’t seem to be as bothered by the fact, as he gets out and walks over to his side to help him out. 

He walks him up to his door, and waits for him to unlock it, and then when Sebastian’s walking in, he follows him without even waiting for Sebastian’s permission, asking him where Sebastian’s living room is, and taking off in that direction as soon as Sebastian gets the words out, still half-carrying him.

“Where’s your first aid kit?” He asks as soon as Sebastian is sitting down on a couch. 

Sebastian blinks up at him, confused.

Kurt sighs, and crosses his arms.

“A first aid kit, Sebastian, is a small box with essential supplies for minor medical emergencies.”

“Smartass,” Sebastian says. Then he adds, “And I don't see why you would need my first aid kit. Don't you have anywhere else to be?”

Kurt shrugs.

“Not really. Not much to do in Lima on a weekday, especially when most of my friends are elsewhere. And, really, I'm already here, so I might as well help patch you up, so I won't get tortured by my conscience later on.”

“Why would your conscience torture you?”

“Because you need help. And I can provide it. And just up and leaving would probably be a jerk move.”

“But you hate me.”

“Don't flatter yourself, Sebastian. I just… mildly dislike you most of the time.”

“And yet, you're here. In my house. Wanting to play nurse to me.”

Kurt rolls his eyes again.

“There's one on the bathroom on this floor. Down that hallway, third door to the right.”

“There you go,” Kurt says, smiling at him as though he were a particularly slow pet that had finally gotten something right after a long period of trial and error.

 

Kurt cleans up cuts and applies balms, and gauzes and plasters where needed in silence for a while. 

After he’s done with his face, he asks to check Sebastian's ribs, and Sebastian tells him there's nothing he can do about them, but upon Kurt’s insistence, he still lifts his shirt for Kurt’s examination.

“I'm a pre-med student, Hummel,” he says, “I don't know what you think you'll be able to see or do that I don’t. It’s just a couple of bruised ribs. They hurt like a motherfucker, but they’re hardly life threatening.”

Kurt hums, and reaches out to touch the bruising on Sebastian’s side.

“You need an ice pack. Do you own one?”

“There’s one in the freezer. The kitchen’s over there.”

Kurt goes without saying anything else.

 

Sebastian’s been icing his side for a short while when Kurt speaks again, from where he's perched on an armchair.

“So, what happened? It’s not that I don’t believe you capable of sleeping with someone else’s boyfriend, but I never pegged you as the type to be stupid enough to do it where the boyfriend in question could catch you in fraganti. Especially if said boyfriend could kick your ass.”

He can admit that he deserves the abuse, after all the bullshit he pulled with Blaine.

He doesn’t know exactly why he does it, but he still says, “I didn’t know he was taken. He was on the bar alone when I found him, and he never brought another guy up. And we weren’t even fucking, really. It was just some heavy petting by the door. And next thing I know? There’s this massive guy honest to God hauling me off my conquest by the collar of my shirt— which he ruined, by the way.”

“A tragedy,” Kurt tells him, and Sebastian rolls his eyes because he’s eyeing Sebastian’s polo with unrestrained disgust.

“Anyway, he was hauling me off my conquest, and sucker punching me in the face. Twice.”

“Does the second one really count as a sucker punch, though?”

“It does when you’re on your third sake bomb.”

“Okay, fair enough. And what about your ribs?”

“I lost my balance, and he kicked me while I was down.”

Kurt winces in sympathy.

“Yeah. And the worst part was that then they just— they just had this big, overblown scream fest, with tears and shit, while I was just curled into a ball on the floor in pain. And they kissed and made up and fucking _left together_.”

Kurt bites a trembling lip. Sebastian just makes a go ahead gesture with his hand. 

And then he’s off, guffawing his heart out, as if he’d only been waiting for Sebastian’s approval. There are tears at the corners of his eyes, and he has to pause every couple of seconds to get a deep breath in, but he looks at Sebastian and giggles until he’s dissolving back into laughter.

And Sebastian? Sebastian isn’t even pissed, is the thing. He can feel himself smirking, and for some reason he feels more relaxed than he’s felt in— in a long time, really.

When Kurt has finally calmed himself down enough, he asks, “Was the heavy petting worth it at least?”

“Hardly. It wasn’t even that satisfying. He had a neck the size of a tree trunk, a dick the size of a pencil, and two left hands. I don’t know how he manages to jerk off without inflicting some serious damage on himself.”

And then Kurt’s off again.

And Sebastian feels oddly proud of himself.

 

“So what about you?” He asks after a couple of minutes. “You’ve been privy to my mortification. I demand retribution.”

“Who says I have anything mortifying to share?”

Sebastian makes a little tutting noise.

“I saw you walk out of Scandals looking as if you’d run into the devil himself inside.”

Kurt goes quiet, then. Pensive.

He looks at Sebastian, considering. 

Finally, he says, “I saw Blaine with his new boyfriend. His new boyfriend, David Karofsky.”

And— well, shit. There's nothing much to say to that.

He’d been vaguely aware of the fact that the engagement had been called off for some reason, but he’d thought that would last only long enough for them to get some emotional performances out of it before they kissed and made up and rode into the sunset on unicorns to get married in the gayest ceremony ever seen and have a batch of babies.

“Wanna get wasted?” He asks, then. Because he has pretty much no experience cheering people up, and even though he doesn't know why he would want to cheer Kurt Hummel out of all people, the impulse is still there.

“You should be taking some ibuprofen for your ribs,” Kurt says, which isn't really an answer.

Sebastian shrugs. And almost immediately regrets it.

“I’ll start taking that tomorrow,” he says, and stomps down on the part of him that wants to make the words persuasive. “I think after tonight we both deserve to get absolutely fucking trashed.”

“Fine,” Kurt says, relaxing into the armchair. “Where's your liquor cabinet?”

Sebastian smirks.

 

When he wakes up the next morning, Kurt is gone. 

There's a note scrawled on a torn piece of paper on the coffee table in front of him, and when he reaches out to grab it (his head and his face and his side, and pretty much his whole fucking body, protesting at the movement), all it has written on it is a phone number.

Sebastian saves the new contact as Nurse Hummel.


	2. Chapter 2

_**To: Nurse Hummel** _

_what's a nice way of telling someone you don't give a flying fuck about their pets_

_**From: Nurse Hummel** _

_Hello to you too. Nice to see you have some manners._

_**From: Nurse Hummel** _

_Pretty sure there's no polite way of saying that._

_**To: Nurse Hummel** _

_yeah i was worried you'd say that_

_**From: Nurse Hummel** _

_Sorry to disappoint._

_**From: Nurse Hummel** _

_How’s your face? And your ribs?_

_**To: Nurse Hummel** _

_fine enough_

 

_**To: Nurse Hummel** _

_i forgot to ask earlier_

_**To: Nurse Hummel** _

_why did you decide to grace me with your digits_

_**From: Nurse Hummel** _

_I figured it'd come in handy if you made any more poor life choices. I could use the good karma._

_**From: Nurse Hummel** _

_Or if you wanted someone to drink that NEXT5 limited edition sake in your top shelf with._

_**To: Nurse Hummel** _

_gold digger_

_**From: Nurse Hummel** _

_I just happen to have an appreciation for the finer things in life._

 

_**From: Nurse Hummel** _

_So, never got around to asking last night, what are you doing here?_

_**From: Nurse Hummel** _

_Aren't you supposed to be off at some Ivy League college, terrorizing professors and freshmen alike?_

_**To: Nurse Hummel** _

_columbia_

_**From: Nurse Hummel** _

_Of course. So, what are you doing back in Ohio?_

_**To: Nurse Hummel** _

_could ask you the same_

_**From: Nurse Hummel** _

_You could. And I would probably even answer. Provided you answered my question first. It's only polite._

_**To: Nurse Hummel** _

_i’d feel more inclined to share with the class if i was bribed with a hot beverage_

_**From: Nurse Hummel** _

_I see. Lima Bean at 5?_

 

Sebastian hasn’t really been to the Lima Bean since he came back. There are better places to get a caffeine fix— places that aren’t teeming with loud, obnoxious high schoolers most of the time.

He isn’t surprised to walk in and see it remains the same as it ever was, and as much as it really shouldn’t—because he doesn’t associate that many genuinely good memories to the place—, nostalgia sets in, like a heavy, warm blanket.

He casts a glance around, and when he sees that he’s there first, he goes up to the line and orders himself a monstrosity with whole milk, extra whipped cream and four shots of espresso, because it’s definitely been that kind of day. The look on the girl working the register is priceless when he asks for those four shots (as was the look she’d given him when he stepped up to the register, face half busted up), even though she says nothing as she rings him up.

 _Youth,_ he thinks to himself as he gets handed his drink, and makes his way to an empty table.

It doesn’t really matter that the girl is probably only, what? Two? Three years younger than him? Because, honestly, Sebastian was probably never that young and fresh-faced and stuff.

He takes the first sip of his drink once he’s gingerly sat down, and even through the whipped cream, the bitterness of the espresso wakes him up a little. Kind of like a kick to his brain.

He glances at his watch.

4:55 p.m.

 

He sees Kurt Hummel as soon as he steps in, at practically five on the dot.

It’s hard to miss his build.

It’s harder to miss his presence.

When Kurt casts a glance around the coffee shop, Sebastian smirks and gives him a lazy wave of a hand, which Kurt seems to find pretty much instantly.

He gives him a smile. And then seems to freeze in place, frowning for a second. And then the frown melts out of him as his shoulders lift in a minuscule shrug, and he smiles again, returning the wave before heading to the register.

 

“I thought you wanted a bribe.” Is the first thing Kurt says to him as he sits down with a monstrosity of his own.

Sebastian shrugs.

“With the kind of day I’m having? You can buy me another one of these when I’m done. And then probably another one when I’m done with that one.”

“Hangover?” Kurt asks, and he sounds too pleased with himself for someone who was right along with Sebastian on the trashed train the night before.

“You?”

Kurt is the one that shrugs then.

“I have a couple of tricks to get rid of those.” He takes a sip of his own drink.

Sebastian arches a brow.

“Kurt Hummel, experienced enough drinker to know how to cure a hangover?”

Kurt moves his cup to a side and leans forward, whispers:

“Do you want my secrets?”

Sebastian’s throat goes dry for a second there, before he reins that part of himself that’s committed to hedonism and bad choices and is constantly getting him into trouble.

“Sure,” he says, trying to appear casual and just the right side of interested.

Kurt smiles, and the way his lips curl, a little more on one side than the other, is coy and honestly charming.

“You can’t have them.”

Sebastian rolls his eyes as Kurt leans back.

“So...” Kurt starts again after a couple more sips of his drink.

“So?”

“What are you doing here, Sebastian?”

“No beating around the bush, huh?”

Kurt gives him a smirk.

“When have you ever known me to do that?”

Sebastian hums in agreement.

“It’s nothing sordid, sadly,” he says, “I wasn’t caught blowing a professor or anything.”

Kurt, gratifyingly enough, chokes a little on his drink, and then _glares_ at Sebastian, even though the purse of his lips is more amused than annoyed.

“I’m taking a semester off,” he explains, finally. “There was a family— situation. And I decided it was best I stay here for a while.”

Kurt’s demeanor does a 180° turn so fast that Sebastian’s sure the guy must be feeling some sort of whiplash. His eyes go round and big and concerned, and his brow furrows, and he covers a hand of Sebastian’s with one of his own.

Sebastian looks down at that with a raised eyebrow, but Kurt doesn’t seem to be paying enough attention to his body language to take the contact away.

“What happened? Is everything fine? Are you okay?”

 _What do you care?_ is the first thought that pops into his mind, bitter and holding on to grudges of his school days.

 _He has really soft hands_ , is the second one.

The third one, the one he finally vocalizes is, “my, already holding my hand and we aren’t even through the first date.”

That seems to break the spell somewhat, and Kurt takes his hand away as he rolls his eyes at Sebastian.

The concerned look on his face remains, however, and so Sebastian tries the ‘not being a bitch’ thing again, even though he hasn’t really shared what he’s about to say with anyone else— and who would he even share this with? The only real friend he has is Hunter Clarington, the only guy on Earth who might be more emotionally unavailable than he is, even when he’s trying to be a good friend.

“My grandmother,” he says, and stops, because he doesn’t know quite how to follow.

“Your grandmother? The Betty White fan?” There’s a soft smile on Kurt’s face as he says this that has Sebastian unable to return a strained one of his own.

“The one and only.” He takes a deep breath, and finally just gets it out. “She has a weak heart. Has always had a weak heart— and we had a— a scare a little while ago. And we’re afraid she—”

He can’t say it.

_We’re afraid she doesn’t have much time left._

Suddenly, the hand is back on top of his again, and when he meets Kurt’s gaze, Kurt just holds it, unfazed, his hold on Sebastian tightening for a second before it relaxes again.

“I’m sorry you’re going through this. There’s not much else I can say other than that.”

And for some reason— and Jesus, hasn’t that been a theme these past twenty four hours, being completely unaware of why he’s feeling the way he’s feeling— that makes him feel kind of better. Kurt is not trying to coddle him, isn’t giving him empty platitudes, isn’t growing uncomfortable with the situation and making it about himself. He’s just… acknowledging that something’s going on that is out of their control. And it fucking sucks.

And, oh.

That’s the feeling, the reason.

He doesn’t feel as alone, he realizes.

And it’s just his luck that the one who’s making him feel less alone, after a measly night together, is none other than Kurt Hummel.

But whatever. At this point? Sebastian will take it.

“So that’s me,” he says after the silence has gone on for a minute or two while they both sip their drinks. “What are you doing back here in sunny, godawful Lima? NYADA not what it was cracked up to be?”

“Oh, NYADA is a dream. If dreams could give you PTSD.” The way he smiles at his own joke has Sebastian chuckling. “I do love it, though. And I’m here for my Work Study Program. I’m here to hone my craft.”

Sebastian leans his elbow on the table and rests his chin on his palm.

“So. Nothing to do with one Blaine Anderson coming back here with his tail between his legs a few months ago?”

He’ll admit he dropped that comment equal parts because he’s actually curious about whatever light Kurt has to shed on the whole situation, and because he enjoys rattling Kurt’s cage, even in spite of the incredibly recent developments in their relationship.

The response he gets, though, is not nearly as satisfying as he thought it would be.

Kurt doesn’t walk out, or light up like an explosive, or attempt to glare him into submission, or throw the remainders of his lukewarm drink on his face— all things Sebastian could’ve seen a younger Kurt Hummel doing if Sebastian had ever come that close to his soft underbelly.

This Kurt just… sighs, and fiddles with a torn sugar packet. His shoulders are slumped and defeated and Sebastian wants to kick himself in the balls for making him look like that.

“I— I was foolish enough to think I could just come back here and— and just fix things. Have they go back to the way they were.”

Sebastian’s stomach turns, and he can’t delude himself into blaming the four shots of espresso in his drink.

Turns out there’s something more nerve-racking than trusting someone with your vulnerabilities, and it’s when they trust you with theirs.

“I called him and asked him to meet up— in Scandals of all places— and then I just— I blurted out that I was going to try to get him back, because my brain-to-mouth filter short circuits when I’m that nervous— and then he’s telling me he’s moved on. With David Karofsky.” He takes a deep breath here, and Sebastian ignores how shaky the exhale is, looks elsewhere when Kurt brings up a hand to his face to stop a tear before it can fall. “I thought— I thought _you_ would be the worst case scenario, you know? He told me he was seeing someone and that I knew him, and I sat there like a fool, thinking ‘please don’t say Sebastian Smythe’.”

He blurts out, “Wow, thanks.”

And then, when Kurt snorts—this wet little thing that makes him stop looking so miserable—, he can’t really bring himself to regret the outburst.

“Can you blame me?” Kurt asks, and when he meets his gaze his eyes are a little crinkled at the corner. Sad, but not as brokenhearted as they probably would’ve been if Sebastian had looked into them a couple of seconds ago.

“Not really. Proceed.”

“Turns out there was a worse scenario than you.” He makes a break there just to smirk at Sebastian, and Sebastian retaliates by rolling up an empty sugar packet into a little ball and flicking it in Kurt’s direction, which only makes the smirk grow bigger. The mirth bleeds out of him almost as fast as it came, though. “David— I don’t know how much you know about him.”

Sebastian shrugs, not knowing how to put _all I know about him is that he tried to kill himself and I might’ve been a contributing factor_ into words.

Kurt nods.

“I transferred to Dalton in the middle of junior year.” He starts, and then grows silent for a couple of seconds, thoughtful.

Sebastian waits him out.

“It was because of him,” he says, when he seems to have gotten his thoughts in order. “He’d threatened to kill me.”

Sebastian feels chills running up and down his spine.

“He—?”

“Yes,” Kurt interrupts. “He literally threatened to kill me. And not in a friendly ‘I will kill you if you post that picture on Facebook’ way.

“He’d— he’d been bullying me relentlessly for a while. Him, and his buddy Azimio, along with some other guys from the football and hockey teams. He almost beat me up, once, in sophomore year.” He stops there, and he gets this faraway look on him. He smiles, and there’s something on the expression that is endlessly sad but also endlessly loving. “Finn saved me. While wearing a red rubber dress, made out of the shower curtains from the locker room, and the sparkly bastard child of a domino mask and a pair of nipple pasties.”

Sebastian can’t help laughing at that mental image, and for a couple of seconds, Kurt laughs along.

When the laughter dies down, Kurt says, “I can’t— I can’t tell _when_ , exactly, but it got worse. He started body slamming me into lockers any chance he got, and just— just terrorizing me and making my life as hard as he could. And one day, after I met Blaine, and he encouraged me to, I— I confronted him, in a deserted locker room. I remember him telling me I was there to peek on his junk, and I just _lost_ it. I tore into him, telling him that I wasn’t into guys like him, and then— when he got violent, I told him to just hit me, because it wasn’t going to change who I was, but then he— then he forced a kiss on me, instead.”

Sebastian has nothing. Nothing at all to say to that. Kurt doesn’t seem to need him to, now that he’s delving into his memories, and so Sebastian just sits there, still, heart beating so fast, hands sweaty.

“And if I thought he was making my life hard before that? Then after that he started making my life hell. I made the mistake of telling Blaine and bringing him over to McKinley in an attempt to— I don’t know. Help? But it just backfired, spectacularly. David got defensive, and he felt backed into a corner, and then he threatened to kill me if I told anyone about what had happened, and the harassment just— it grew so much worse. I never knew when it was coming, and the way he would _look_ at me? It sent shivers down my spine. I was terrified all the time, as if I was in one of those horror movies where you think the main character’s going to make it, only for them to die in the end.

“Then one day my dad was in school and he found out about Karofsky harassing me and— things got ugly. He got expelled then, but the school board repealed the principal’s decision and then my dad and Carole, my stepmom, made the decision to transfer me to Dalton, using the money they’d saved up for their honeymoon.”

“Wow.”

He flinches as soon as the word is out of his mouth.

“I’m— I— I have nothing to say. Wow, that’s shitty. And I thought I was the king of the douchebags back in high school.”

“You? Please, you were an amateur. And you weren’t anything I hadn’t faced before. Except for the rock salt slushie.”

“I’m still sorry for that. It was meant for your clothes. Not that it makes it any better, in hindsight.”

“It really doesn’t.”

Kurt lets him sweat for a while then, back to his sugar packet— which is almost entirely torn to shreds by now.

“You apologized to him,” he tells him when he runs out of pieces to tear up. “You apologized to Blaine and he accepted your apologies and you— you changed. Well, there was that whole steroids stint your senior year—”

“Peer pressure?” He tries, with what he’s been told is a thoroughly charming smile.

Kurt doesn’t seem overly impressed by it, as he raises a judgmental eyebrow.

“Yeah, it was a stupid move.”

“It was.” Kurt agrees, nodding. “Anyway. You apologized. You changed. And so did he. He grew as a person. I know that, I know he’s not the same David Karofsky he was then. And perhaps this is… unfair of me. But inside of me there’s still the ghost of that scared sixteen year old boy who was afraid of every corner he turned, and to that ghost? Seeing David and Blaine sitting together, side by side, as a couple? It was the ultimate blow.”

“I don’t think it’s unfair of you, Kurt. I think if there’s anyone with any right to feel strongly about Blaine’s sham of a rebound, it’s you.”

“You know what’s sad? That’s probably the most uplifting thing I’ve heard since coming back home.”

Sebastian laughs.

“So… how about I get you that bribe drink now, and we talk about something a little less depressing than the tatters of my love life.”


	3. Chapter 3

It’s been less than a week since they saw each other when Kurt texts him again.

He’s making his way from his grandma's nursing home to his car (to his _father_ 's car), when his phone dings in his pocket.

When he opens the message up, he can’t help but let out a snort.

_**From: Nurse Hummel** _

_Blaine just accused me of poaching one of his students out of jealousy of his new relationship._

_**To: Nurse Hummel** _

_well… did you poach his student out of jealousy?_

_**To: Nurse Hummel** _

_no judgment if you did_

_**To: Nurse Hummel** _

_i would probably do worse_

_**From: Nurse Hummel** _

_Why doesn’t that surprise me. And I didn’t. Jane (the student we supposedly poached) transferred on her own because the Warbler council refused to let her join and she felt justifiably unappreciated._

_**To: Nurse Hummel** _

_jane?_

_**From: Nurse Hummel** _

_Yes. Jane Hayward. Amazing voice. Also very much a girl, formerly attending on special dispensation due to being a Dalton legacy. The council probably collectively broke out in hives at the thought of her cooties._

_**To: Nurse Hummel** _

_very likely_

_**To: Nurse Hummel** _

_even the few straight guys in there probably have no clue what to do with a girl_

_**To: Nurse Hummel** _

_it’d be sad if it wasn't such a source of entertainment_

_**From: Nurse Hummel** _

_Not that you're around to be entertained anymore._

_**To: Nurse Hummel** _

_not that i’m around to be entertained anymore_

_**To: Nurse Hummel** _

_i don't hang out with high schoolers these days_

_**To: Nurse Hummel** _

_unlike some other people i know_

_**From: Nurse Hummel** _

_Do you have to make it sound so seedy?_

_**From: Nurse Hummel** _

_Who am I kidding. Of course you do. You’re you._

He can’t help the smile on his face as he pockets his phone after reading that, getting on the car, and driving back home.

 

Going back to having dinner alone with his father every night (minus the few nights that he excused himself by feigning a persistent cold, while the worst of his injuries healed) after having been gone for college for a year is… something.

It’s not that his father is a bad person. Or even a bad parent. He’s not even distant.

He’s just… awkward. He doesn’t have much common ground with Sebastian, and even though he tries to connect, their relationship is still a little stilted.

There’s love there, yes—because, despite everything anyone would expect out of someone like Sebastian Smythe, his parents _do_ love him, and he was, in fact, hugged enough as a child— but there’s also a lot of silence and a lot of inconsequential chatter that more often than not leaves the both of them feeling a little frustrated.

That night, however, his dad throws him a curveball.

“You seem happier,” he says, after taking a sip of his wine from his stemless glass.

Sebastian almost chokes on a bite of veal.

“What?” He gets out after he’s managed to swallow.

“You seem happier,” his father repeats, and the expression he’s wearing is one Sebastian is intimately familiar with, because he sees it often on the mirror.

He’s _self-satisfied_ , for some reason.

“I don't know what you're talking about,” he says, and goes back to his steak.

His father hums, and Sebastian is sure if he looked up he’d see him swirling the wine in his glass, because he's a cliché sometimes.

“You just seem to be carrying less of a burden on your shoulders. It makes me happy, son.

“I'm proud that you want to be here for your grandma, but I'm glad that you aren't letting this consume you. You’re too young to look the way you’ve been looking lately. Or to be getting into the kind of trouble that gets you a split lip and a shiner.”

Sebastian's throat closes up.

Suddenly, he wishes they were talking about the NFL, or whatever strange hobby his father has gotten into lately.

He’d much rather be talking about philately than… whatever this is.

“I know neither of us is the talkative sort when it comes to what we are feeling,” his father goes on, and Sebastian chews on his food past the point where it's mush and still has trouble swallowing. “And I know we don't always see eye to eye. But I don't want you to think you can't— come to me about your problems. Or about the things that make you happy. About the _people_ that make you happy.”

Sebastian's blood runs cold.

“I have no idea what you're talking about,” he says, and distantly registers how brittle the syllables in that last word sound.

His father hums again, and this time Sebastian does look up, and finds him looking at him with nothing but affection in his eyes.

“Okay,” his father agrees. And though the smile he gives Sebastian is honest, the way he says the word is not.

The way he says the word is reminiscent of how he’d pretend to believe Sebastian's lies about who ate the last cookies in the jar when he was a child.

 

He’s in his car that night, about to leave for one of his usual haunts, when his phone dings.

He doesn’t need to check it to know who it is. He doesn’t keep in contact with that many people.

_**From: Nurse Hummel** _

_Blaine came to the homecoming bonfire with David. They’re snuggling in the trunk of David’s truck. If you shot me right now, it’d probably be a mercy killing._

He hears his father’s voice in his head, talking about people who make him happy, and makes a snap decision.

_**To: Nurse Hummel** _

_you know what_

_**To: Nurse Hummel** _

_i really feel like going to a homecoming bonfire_

_**To: Nurse Hummel** _

_never been to one before_

 

It’s easy enough to find Kurt, even in the semi-darkness and the ocean of white and red. He’s hanging by his precious New Directions friends (minus Blaine, he can’t help but notice), with Rachel Berry practically clinging to his arm, giving him these huge, almost manic smiles from time to time, that Kurt only seems to respond to by leaning his head over hers sporadically, for a second or two.

“Well, this is delightfully quaint,” he drawls when he’s close enough to Kurt to be heard over the noise of the crowd, and can’t suppress a grin when Kurt jumps almost a foot into the air before turning around to glare at him.

“I wasn’t serious about killing me, you know,” Kurt says, but he’s wearing a lopsided smile.

“Pity. So this is a homecoming bonfire, huh?”

Kurt slaps his arm, much more lightly than he did that night in his car.

“Shush, you are the one who wanted to come.”

“Kurt?”

They both turn towards the interloper, and Sebastian’s suddenly faced with a confused looking Rachel Berry.

“If it isn’t Lima’s very own Rachel Berry,” Sebastian says, and thrusts a hand in Rachel’s direction.

He delights for a couple of seconds in the way her brows furrow and how she keeps shooting glances between him and Kurt, and bites his tongue on the many, many snide comments that pool on his tongue, especially on the ones about Rachel’s flop of a TV show pilot.

Rachel takes his proffered hand after Kurt makes a loud coughing noise, and she gives him a positively beaming smile that is as fake as fake can be.

Sebastian is impressed.

“Sebastian Smythe,” Rachel says, then. “I didn’t know you and Kurt were… in such friendly terms.”

“Recent development,” Kurt replies to that, flashing a smile towards Sebastian.

Sebastian nods his agreement, and stands a little closer to Kurt, not missing the way Rachel keeps casting looks between the two of them.

 

He thinks that’s going to be the theme of the night, Kurt’s friends questioning his presence there and shooting them completely unsubtle looks, but the only one of Kurt’s friends who seems to have anything for him other than a polite enough welcome is one Santana Lopez.

He expects her lay down the law about him leaving, but she surprises him by giving him a thorough once over and waiting until Kurt is called over by another of his friends to step beside him, with arms crossed over her chest.

“So,” she says.

And then goes silent.

“So?” He prods.

“So you have a thing for lady Hummel.”

Sebastian freezes on the spot.

“I don’t—”

“—Oh please, don’t try to feed me any bullshit about it.” She waves one perfectly manicured hand around, and then makes a loose fist with it, and keeps it raised. “I’m just here to tell you not to fuck it up, ‘roid boy. He’s been having a rough couple of months, and the last thing he needs is some preppy douchebag to slither his way into his sheets and then dump him in the morning.”

She turns around and gives him what could be interpreted as a smile, if smiles were intended to instill fear of pain and destruction.

“You might think you were the biggest bitch back in your rock salt slushie days, but you haven’t even _seen_ bitch yet. So. Be careful.”

And then she’s off, making her way towards her blonde ex-cheerleader girlfriend, who she links pinkies and exchanges a chaste kiss with.

Almost as if it had been timed by the universe, Kurt makes his way back to him, then.

“Sorry for leaving you alone,” he says, “Tina wanted to gossip.”

He internally debates over telling Kurt about Santana’s thinly veiled threats, but ultimately decides not to.

There’s just something about Santana Lopez that reminds him of himself, and he can admit that he would probably act the same way she did, if he had a friend he valued as much as she seems to value Kurt and the rest of this band of misfit toys.

 _Would probably ditch my plans with no notice and no prompting so his ex-boyfriend can see he’s not alone_ , the more aware part of him thinks.


	4. Chapter 4

Three days later he wakes up to a text from Kurt.

_**From: Nurse Hummel** _

_I ran into Blaine and David in the sheet music store, and then spent a portion of my night having a meltdown in the form of a musical hallucination to Carole King’s It’s Too Late._

He only sends the text he does in reply because he’s half-asleep. But then he shrugs, with his face half-buried on his pillow, and decides that he probably would’ve sent something similar enough if he’d been firing on all cylinders.

_**To: Nurse Hummel** _

_you really need to get laid_

_**From: Nurse Hummel** _

_Of course you’d think that._

Sebastian rolls his eyes, and rolls over onto his back so he can use both hands to type.

_**To: Nurse Hummel** _

_it doesn’t mean i’m wrong_

He smirks.

_**To: Nurse Hummel** _

_that reply came awfully fast_

_**To: Nurse Hummel** _

_were you waiting by the phone for my reply_

_**From: Nurse Hummel** _

_I was on the line to get my coffee. You are marginally more interesting than eavesdropping on the two middle-aged ladies in front of me talking about their poodles._

Sebastian chuckles.

 

He’s having lunch (on his own, since his father eats in his office), when Kurt calls.

He stares at the screen of his phone, befuddled, for a couple of seconds.

Kurt doesn’t _call._

His stomach sinks into his boat shoes, as he picks up.

“Yes?”

“I’m a terrible person.”

He’s equally flooded by relief and even more confusion.

“You’re probably the best person I’ve met in my life, and that’s not even a compliment. You could use some nastiness.”

Kurt sighs on the other end of the line, and Sebastian hears some noise that he can vaguely interpret as Kurt sitting down somewhere.

“Oh, I have nasty to spare. Believe me,” he says, and Sebastian hears the distant sound of a piano key being pressed. Again, and again. “I ruined Santana’s wedding proposal.”

Sebastian’s eyebrows both go up in surprise.

“Yeah,” Kurt goes on. “She proposed to Brittany in the choir room after they did a mash-up of Hand In My Pocket and I Feel The Earth Move. It was romantic and beautiful, and I just— trampled all over that and asked them if they hadn’t learned anything from mine and Blaine’s failed relationship, and just. I am a truly hideous person. I will end up old and bitter and alone with fifty cats. Santana tore me a new one over it and I can’t blame her.”

“Okay, so you made a mistake,” Sebastian says, and spears a cherry tomato with his fork. “It’s called being human.”

“This isn’t only a—”

“I blinded Blaine on one eye, and he needed surgery. Karofsky assaulted you and threatened to kill you. I hear that Puckerman guy used to throw you in dumpsters.”

“What does that—”

“We all made mistakes. Awful mistakes. And we were forgiven for them, and grew as people. What it means, Kurt, is that people fuck up. You fucked up, okay. And yeah, it was a douchebag thing to do, what you did. But you know what you do _now_?”

“Apologize?”

“There you go. You apologize and you do better, and all that Lifetime movie stuff. You’re probably great at it.”

“I can’t believe I just got an inspirational talk from Sebastian Smythe.”

“Yeah, well. I can’t believe I just _gave_ an inspirational talk.”

He eats his cherry tomato, then, with gusto.

 

It’s been a couple of hours since they talked when he texts Kurt, sitting at his grandma’s bedside as she dozes.

_**To: Nurse Hummel** _

_how did apologizing go_

_**From: Nurse Hummel** _

_It went… well enough. Santana just rolled her eyes at me and told me not to cry on her because she’s allergic to emotions._

_**From: Nurse Hummel** _

_Brittany was sweet and understanding._

_**From: Nurse Hummel** _

_And then she told me Blaine moved in with David. And that I need to start getting over him._

_**To: Nurse Hummel** _

_tough love_

_**To: Nurse Hummel** _

_i respect that_

_**From: Nurse Hummel** _

_I know it comes out of a place of love. It’s just hard to hear._

After he drafts and redrafts six different texts, he casts a look at his still dozing grandma and quietly gets up and out of the room, dialing Kurt’s number as he goes.

“Okay, I was mostly kidding with that text this morning, but now I’m a hundred percent serious. Kurt, we need to get you laid,” he says, as soon as Kurt picks up.

“And hello to you too.”

“Yeah, hello, whatever. You need to get some ass. Or some dick. Or both.”

“Do you really need to be that crass?”

“Yeah, I do. And you need to get laid. Get that rebound out of the way and then start looking for your new Mr. Right. There are plenty short guys with bowties and decent singing voices out there.”

“I’m not going to date some Blaine look-alike. That’s creepy.”

“Cool, expand your horizons.” He leans back on the wall of the nursing home’s hallway. “We’re going out tonight.”

Kurt sighs.

“C’mon,” he wheedles. “I’ll even get us an Uber so you won’t have to stick to Shirley Temples all night.”

“How magnanimous of you,” Kurt intones.

“Extremely.” He feels his shit-eating grin bleed into the word, and imagines Kurt rolling his eyes at him on the other side of the line.

“You know what? Fine.”

Sebastians smirks.

 

“I miss decent gay bars.”

Sebastian raises his beer bottle in a toast to that, even as he eyes the rest of the patrons.

“What about that one?” He asks, pointing at a guy that’s perusing the bar’s jukebox.

Kurt wrinkles his nose.

“I can smell the Axe body spray from here.”

Sebastian chortles, and takes a sip of his beer as the guy he’d been pointing at straightens up and looks in their direction, sizing Sebastian up briefly and apparently finding him lacking (which would smart more than it does if he weren’t a man on a mission), and then moving on to Kurt. And staying there.

He knows the guy likes what he sees and he tells Kurt as much.

“Please, I’m both old and wise enough not to agree to sleep with someone just because they happen to think I’m hot.”

“My, my,” Sebastian drawls, “I wonder where all that confidence came from.”

Kurt shrugs, and takes a sip of his Long Island Iced Tea.

“I grew up.”

“Nice.”

Kurt smiles at him, with the straw still between his lips, looking up at him from under his lashes.

“You should try it some time,” he tells him.

Sebastian smiles back

“It sounds awfully drab.”

 

The guy that gets through Kurt’s rigorous vetting process ends up being one of the bar’s regulars. A guy in his thirties that Sebastian hasn’t ever made much conversation with because he never looked very interested in hooking up.

He seems more than interested now, as he crowds into Kurt’s space. He’s a couple of inches shorter than Kurt, but he’s broader, and Sebastian can tell Kurt is into it, even as the guy drops all pretence of subtlety and puts a hand over Kurt’s on the bartop and rubs his thumb over Kurt’s wrist.

Sebastian’s on his third beer when Kurt comes over to him and tells him he’ll be back in a minute, and the guy’s waiting for him just a feet or so away, looking at Kurt as though he can hardly believe his eyes.

It’s cute. The kind of look that’s rarely seen in a place like this.

He’s watching Kurt walk away, hand in hand with his guy when he realizes he doesn’t feel as accomplished as he thought he would feel.

Instead of questioning why that might be, he drinks the rest of his beer, and orders a fourth one.

 

Kurt comes back about two or three beers later, alone and looking the definition of bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.

He hip checks Sebastian when he’s next to him, and the part of him that he’s not currently on speaking terms with, wants to do— something. Something decidedly not nice. Something that Sebastian the fifteen year old would’ve done.

He hip-checks Kurt back, instead, and throws him a lecherous smile.

“So, how was it?”

Kurt titters, and it’s— endearing. It’s frankly endearing, how he stands there with his hair all carefully coiffed (as if he’d fixed it recently), and his cheeks flushed, and his broad shoulders all relaxed under that shirt, just looking nervously excited and obviously post-orgasmic.

“A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell.”

Sebastian raises an eyebrow, and pokes Kurt on the side with the neck of his bottle.

“Okay, okay— it was. Good. He definitely didn’t have two left hands. And that’s all you’re getting out of me, you perv.”

“He have a name?”

“Jordan.” A pleased smile blossoms over his features. “He also has a phone number, and a date with me the day after tomorrow, after I’m done with glee rehearsal.”

The words sink like a stone in his stomach.

He ignores the feeling and throws an arm over Kurt’s shoulders.

“Congratulations on getting back on the dating saddle.”

Kurt squeezes the hand that’s on his shoulder, and when he looks at Sebastian, there’s something so open, so trusting in his gaze, that it makes Sebastian’s heart beat double time.

“Thanks for this. I probably wouldn’t— no, I know for a fact that I wouldn’t have done this without you. And I don’t know how I may feel about this tomorrow, but right now? I really feel like a million bucks.”

And that, just _that_ , Kurt’s words, and his eyes, it all makes that stone in his stomach dissolve into nothing.

And that’s exactly the moment Sebastian realizes he’s probably fucked.


	5. Chapter 5

It's officially dinner time on ‘the day after tomorrow’.

It's dinner time and Kurt hasn't texted him in the past two days, and so neither has Sebastian, and the insane thing is he itches to do it. 

He itches to do it even though he doesn't really _want_ to text Kurt, because texting him means hearing all about his date with Jordan, and now that the dam on his feelings has inconveniently broken down, he is practically drowning in just how much he doesn't want to hear about Kurt going on a date with some other guy.

Sebastian's not— he’s not really _used_ to jealousy. Being a spoiled rich brat meant never having to share anything he didn't want to, growing up.

And he's never been invested enough in any kind of relationship to feel even the slightest bit insecure over them. 

Who cares if Mr. Right Now is thinking about someone else while Sebastian is giving him the most intense orgasm he’ll ever get? Chances are Sebastian's doing the same, more often than not.

Jealousy is scalding uncomfortable heat sitting under his skin, and Sebastian has no idea what to do with that.

And even while he's burning up with envy, he can't help the way his eyes drift over to his phone every couple of minutes as though he can somehow _make it_ come alight with a new notification with the power of his mind.

Because worse than the jealousy and the envy is the dread of being left in the dark.

Even worse is the thought that maybe Kurt has already gotten tired of him, and he’ll just have to go back to the way his life was before Kurt came back into it not even two weeks ago.

He grabs for his glass of wine, already half empty.

Denial was nice. Denial was amazing. He wishes he could just go back to being happily in denial and stop feeling like this, sweaty and moody, and really fucking useless.

“Are you waiting for an important call?”

“Huh?” 

His father points towards Sebastian's phone with his fork.

“You don't generally have your phone with you during dinner.”

Well, shit.

He’s struggling to come up with a reply, thinking of all the lies he can tell, and all the ways his father would just see right through them and either call him out on them (doubtful, since Robert Smythe isn’t much of a confrontational man outside of a court) or just let them slip while giving him the kind of look that made him know he was doing exactly that; thinking of all the entirely too embarrassing truths he could tell instead, and just book himself a one way ticket to some remote island where he can spend the rest of his days fucking cursing Kurt Hummel and his— his _everything_ , for making him establish a human connection he’s not quite sure he’s ready for or even _wants_.

His father doesn’t give him enough time to make a decision one way or the other, though.

“At the risk of sounding like a terrible parent, this is refreshing.”

Sebastian gapes at him, and the man just chuckles, and clasps his hands together over the table. 

“Not that I enjoy you being a bundle of nerves, but— you’ve always acted so detached from everything and everyone, bar your family, and I don’t know who it is that has you glancing at your phone every couple of seconds but I sure do know it’s not your mother.”

He knows it’s not meant to be one, but it sounds an awful lot like criticism of his way to handle his relationships, and so he can’t help lashing out a little.

“What is that even supposed to mean?”

His father takes the outburst in stride and shrugs, and Sebastian is reminded of just how frustrating he could be when they argued, never seeming to be fazed by anything while Sebastian progressively lost his cool until he was little more than a child throwing a tantrum.

“It means that I’m happy for you, son.”

Sebastian blushes. He _blushes_ , the way he hasn’t since he was about twelve, and he sorely misses the awkwardness of uneventful dinners past.

 

Kurt calls when he’s getting ready for bed a couple of hours later, drained from doing absolutely nothing at all and hoping for dreams he won’t remember the next day.

When he sees Kurt’s name flashing on his screen, he has the petty urge to let it go to voicemail, but the weird fear that Kurt won’t call back if he does that makes him ignore said urge and just grab for his phone.

He takes in a deep breath and then picks up the call.

“Miss me already?” He injects his words with as much syrupy mock affection as he can.

“Like you wouldn’t believe,” is Kurt’s honest reply, because he _thrives_ in fucking with Sebastian’s world. “And believe me, I can’t believe I’m saying this to you, Sebastian Smythe, of all people, but I swear you might be the most normal person I know that I’m not related to. Which I know says more about the people in my life than about you.”

He puts a hand over his stomach, uncomfortably tied in knots.

“Wow, there might’ve even been a compliment somewhere in there.”

Kurt laughs, and Sebastian grins, full of this strange sense of accomplishment.

“Well, don’t get used to it,” Kurt says when he’s laughed his fill. 

Sebastian can see the way he looks right then perfectly in his mind’s eye, with lips stretched in a playful smile, and his eyes kind and crinkled. 

Silence falls between them for a couple of seconds, and Sebastian relaxes into it, sitting down on his bed and waiting patiently for Kurt to disclose whatever reason he had to call. 

“Are you busy right now?” Kurt asks, then.

“Terribly. I have an orgy scheduled in half an hour.”

Kurt lets out a loud snort.

“You know what the sad part about that is?” Kurt asks.

He makes an inquisitive humming noise as he lies down and grabs around for his pillow.

“That I only know you’re kidding about that one because you would’ve totally texted me to brag about it beforehand.”

Sebastian is the one laughing, then.

“Yeah, you’re probably right about that one.”

Kurt makes a noise that Sebastian decodes as _of course I’m right_.

“So, no plans?” Kurt asks.

“No plans.”

“Want to come over?”

Sebastian’s heart _stops_.

Kurt goes on, “Dad and Carole are off in Washington and I’m feeling like having a couple of drinks, but drinking alone is a recipe for disaster and bad decisions—just ask my aunt Mildred— and I figured you could probably also use the company. And well. As I’ve already said, I kind of miss you. God knows why. I might need to call my therapist.”

Sebastian lets out a gust of air as a chuckle and covers his eyes with a trembling hand.

When he’s sure his voice won’t drop like a thirteen year old’s, he says, “you are just inviting me over for my booze.”

Kurt gasps.

“I wouldn’t!” He says, in mock outrage, but then he adds, “Although if you were to bring one of your Blue Labels, I wouldn’t turn my nose up at it.”

Sebastian grins, and then wants to slap himself.

“So… do you want to come over or not?” Kurt interrupts his thoughts. 

Sebastian makes some thoughtful noises, even though he already knows what his answer will be.

“Okay, sure. Text me your address.”

 

He’s barely at the Hummels’ door when it opens up to reveal Kurt, barefooted and a little ruffled, and looking strangely concerned.

“Are you okay?” He asks, as soon as Sebastian's on the threshold.

Sebastian frowns.

“What? Why wouldn't I be?”

Kurt wrings his hands and bites his lip.

“I forgot about your ribs. You’re taking something for them, right? You shouldn't be driving. Or drinking.”

Sebastian rolls his eyes and steps inside.

“My ribs are fine. They were only lightly bruised and I'm not really taking anything for them anymore. And remember that last night at Scandals?”

Kurt sighs as he closes the door.

“I don't know, I figured you wouldn't have taken anything then, since you knew you had plans. And you already might've now. Sorry. I just— get worried. About things.”

That is probably an understatement, from what he knows about one Kurt Hummel. 

“Okay,” he says, and shoves a cardboard bag in Kurt’s direction. “You can stop worrying now, though. I’m fine.”

Kurt gives him a faint trembling smile, taking the bag.

When he peeks into it, his whole face softens.

“You know I didn’t mean that about your Blue Labels, right? Or about your NEXT5?”

Sebastian shrugs, and starts unbuttoning his coat.

“It’s not like they’re going to be sorely missed at home, and you’ll appreciate them more than I will.”

Kurt shakes his head, fondly, and leads the way towards the den. 

“Do you want some cookies? I have like four trays of them. Chocolate chip, raisins, oat and just plain ‘ol sugar. It’s been a stress baking couple of days, and they need to be gone by the time my dad comes back.” 

“Sure,” Sebastian says, as he takes in the details of Kurt’s home. Then, because he can’t help himself, he adds, “Homemade cookies and Johnnie Walker Blue Label. This is like the R rated version of a play date.”

Kurt just chuckles and makes his way towards what Sebastian assumes is the kitchen.

 

“So,” Sebastian says after he’s filled two glasses with a handful of ice cubes in them with some whiskey and Diet Coke. “What’s had you stress baking?”

Kurt takes his own glass and drains about a quarter of it in one go. 

“That bad, huh?”

“Worse.” Kurt says, and he leaves his glass back on its little coaster before he melts into the couch, closing his eyes. Sebastian doesn’t stare, because staring would be creepy, and Sebastian’s not that kind of guy. “First the day before yesterday Sue Sylvester—McKinley’s principal, who is probably at least first cousins with the devil, and also a little off her rocker— called me into her office to talk to me about helping me get back with Blaine. Which was, in and of itself, a little disturbing— she called us _blouses_.”

Sebastian chokes on his drink.

“What the fuck is a blouse?” He asks when he’s managed to swallow the mouthful of whiskey and Diet Coke down, and tries not to laugh.

“She tried explaining it to me, and I swear to God, I still have no clue.” Kurt tells him. “It doesn’t end there, though.”

Sebastian raises a brow, and Kurt opens an eye to look at him.

“Are you ready for it?”

Sebastian nods.

“So, later that day, when the Warblers were on the auditorium for stage rehearsal—for the Invitationals Sue sprung on us that very same day—, Rachel and I were having a— discussion, with Blaine, and suddenly his phone goes off and it’s David.”

He pauses then, for dramatic effect. 

“And?” Sebastian prompts, because he’s intrigued by where this is all going.

“And David tells Blaine there’s an intruder in their apartment. And then we’re all off like bats out of hell, and when we get there David’s standing on a countertop, wielding a chair, and he’s screaming bloody murder about something being in the bedroom and we get there and— there was a bear cub.”

“ _What?_ ” He blurts out. “You’re fucking with me.”

Kurt gives him a mock disapproving little look, and then he says, all fake sultriness, “Oh, Sebastian Smythe, you’d know if I was fucking you.”

Sebastian just pushes him over, and ignores the heat on his face.

Kurt laughs softly, and as he rights himself, Sebastian can see he’s blushing too.

“A bear,” he affirms. “There was an honest to God bear on their bed, just— lounging around and being cutely dangerous.”

“How did it even get there?” Sebastian wonders.

“Oh, _that_ part’s not a mystery. Sue Sylvester put it there. I knew it as soon as I saw the adorable, bumbling thing. It had her name written all over it. “And the best part? For a relative value of ‘best’? When I confronted her about it the next day, she just told me that she was really confused, because ‘she had it on good authority that Dave Karofsky was attracted to bears’.”

Sebastian bursts out in laughter, then. 

“You can’t be serious,” he says, between gasps for air.

Kurt reaches for his glass, and once he’s polished off at least another quarter of his drink he just looks at Sebastian and says, words dead serious and eyes filled with hilarity, “I couldn’t be more serious. Oh, and did I mention I have pictures?”

And then he thrusts his phone in Sebastian’s direction, and sure enough, there’s a couple of pictures of a ball of fur rolling around in the ugliest rainbow colored bedspread anyone has ever had the misfortune of laying their eyes on.

“Your principal is _crazy_ ,” he says, awed.

Kurt nods in agreement to that, and snorts as he gets a little closer to take a look at the pictures himself.

They scroll through the pictures together for a couple of minutes, occasionally breaking down in snickers, when Sebastian decides to bite the bullet. 

“And what about your date? That was today, right?”

Kurt deflates, and grabs a cushion to put on his lap and play with.

It’s only then, when the movement kind of jostles him, that Sebastian realizes how close to each other they’ve ended up.

“It went— fine?”

“Just fine?” Sebastian prods.

Kurt sighs, and looks up at the ceiling, brow furrowed.

“Yeah. Jordan was— a gentleman. He was there early, and he pulled my chair out for me, and we had a perfectly lovely conversation to some delicious food.”

Sebastian frowns.

“That sounds— nice.”

Kurt huffs, and then he turns his head to Sebastian and he looks so frustrated that Sebastian’s gut clenches in sympathy.

“It was. And that’s— that’s the problem. It was _fine_ , and it was _nice_ , and that was that. We had a lot in common: he likes cars, and he knows his way around a kitchen, and he even knew at least a little about musical theater. But there was no spark.”

“Well,” Sebastian says, drawing the word out. “I’m not the local expert on dating, but isn’t that normal? There’s not always a spark there, that’s kind of the point of dating, isn’t it? To find the spark. I know Blaine and you had this magical, fairytale kind of love-at-first-sight thing—I’ve heard enough about it from the Warblers—, but it’s not like that for most people in the world. Maybe you just need to— give it a second chance.”

Kurt’s eyes on him as he speaks are soft, holding something in them that Sebastian can’t quite describe. 

And then he smiles—reflecting that same softness of his eyes, that same indescribable quality— when Sebastian is done. 

“You’re right,” he says. “Maybe I just need to give it a second chance.”

Sebastian smiles back, even though he’s berating himself for his own stupidity, pushing the guy he— 

— the guy he likes. Pushing the guy he _likes_ into giving some other jerk a second chance.

He reaches for his glass.

 

Kurt’s been silent for a while, appearing to be hemming and hawing on something. 

Sebastian polishes the meager remains of his drink when he gets tired of waiting, grabs the rests of one of his ice cubes from his empty glass, and flings it at Kurt, who yelps and is off the couch in a second, shivering.

“ _Jerk_.”

“Just come out with it,” Sebastian says, leaving his glass on its coaster and leaning back on the couch. “I can practically see the wheels turning in your head and it’s exhausting.”

Kurt drops down on the couch like a ragdoll, then.

“How is— how is your grandma? We never talk about her, and I figured you’d— maybe— I don’t know. It could help? Sharing?”

 _This is what it must feel to get punched in the heart,_ he thinks.

He picks up one of Kurt’s homemade cookies, just for something to do. And then he bites into it, and it’s— delicious. And of course it’s delicious, because Kurt made it, and he’s yet to see Kurt do something and not be amazing at it. _Except maybe dance_ , a childish part of him adds, and Sebastian smiles, and eats the rest of the cookie in two bites, before picking another one up.

Kurt waits for him, patiently, cushion back in his lap, fingers petting it as though it was a small, anxious animal. 

He’s almost through an entire tray of sugar cookies before he feels like he has anything to say, and even then, when the words are out, he’s surprised.

“She had a stroke.”

He can hear Kurt’s sharp inhale. 

“That’s why I came back. She’d always had a history of heart problems, and there was a heart attack scare a couple of years back. And this time— I— when my father called me, he sounded… scared. You don’t know my father, but there’s very little that scares him, and I thought— what can scare a man like Robert Smythe?

“And then he told me about the stroke. It turns out that no matter how big and strong and brave they are, all men are scared to death of losing their moms.”

He only realizes he’s tearing up when he looks up from his clasped hands to Kurt, and he’s blurry.

And then he can’t really even see Kurt at all, because he’s moving closer, close enough to lean on him, and lay a hand on top of his. 

“And then I was back. I can’t remember the flight, or talking to my academic advisor. I remember going into her nursing home and being so relieved to see her. So incredibly relieved, because— I was always one of those kids that ran straight to their grandma when their parents were being unfair.”

He has to stop there, and take a deep breath. Kurt squeezes his hands, softly.

“And I am, still, so glad. But— she’s— she’s tired and she’s in pain, and— and I feel selfish, when I go see her, and she’s smiling at me with so much unconditional love.”

“It’s not— you’re not selfish for loving your grandma and being glad that she’s alive.”

Sebastian hums.

“Some days are better than others, and I take her out on her chair to the gardens, and she tells me about all the trouble my father used to get into as a kid, and I tell her about college, and it’s like nothing at all has changed. Other days are— worse.”

Kurt leans his head on his shoulder then.

“You’re a good grandson, Sebastian Smythe.”

Sebastian swallows around the lump on his throat.

 _And you’re a good friend_ , he wants to say back, _better than I probably deserve._


	6. Chapter 6

He’s in a coffee shop, scrolling through a list of text books he’ll need for the classes he’s planning on taking next semester on his laptop, when Kurt texts him.

He doesn’t even attempt to suppress the smile that takes over his face as he sees the notification.

_**From: Nurse Hummel** _

**__** _I’m too hungover to be dealing with this._

_**To: Nurse Hummel** _

**__** _?_

_**From: Nurse Hummel** _

**__** _Blaine. He was here to give Rachel and Sam piano lessons, and then he was telling me all about how David has ‘dated every man with facial hair in the greater midwest’._

_**From: Nurse Hummel** _

**__** _And how, according to Sue Sylvester, they are related. Third cousins._

_**From: Nurse Hummel** _

**__** _I had to sit there and pretend I hadn’t had half a bottle of jack the night before and be the one to reassure Blaine that there’s no conceivable way he’s related to David Karofsky, of all people in the world._

_**To: Nurse Hummel** _

**__** _i think i just broke something laughing at all this_

_**From: Nurse Hummel** _

**__** _Charming._

_**From: Nurse Hummel** _

**__** _Oh, and I forgot the part where I told him about going on that date with Jordan. In the interest of full disclosure._

_**To: Nurse Hummel** _

**__** _did he cry_

_**From: Nurse Hummel** _

**__** _You’re truly an awful person, Sebastian. No, he didn’t cry. We were very… mature. About things. But it was easily the most awkward five minutes of my life. Even without the hug goodbye. I don’t know what possessed me. I should’ve just gone for a handshake._

_**From: Nurse Hummel** _

**__** _Anyway, bottom line: we need to stop drinking in our social calls._

_**To: Nurse Hummel** _

**__** _hey you’re the one who called last night being all ‘hey wanna get drunk?’_

_**To: Nurse Hummel** _

**__** _i just went along for the ride_

_**To: Nurse Hummel** _

**__** _you, kurt hummel, are a terrible influence_

_**To: Nurse Hummel** _

**__** _but fine_

_**To: Nurse Hummel** _

**__** _we don’t want you to become the boozy coach_

_**From: Nurse Hummel** _

**__** _Jesus, no._

_**To: Nurse Hummel** _

**__** _lima bean tomorrow at 5? I have it on good authority they don’t even serve irish_

 

“They had kids hanging from suspended hula hoops, and _whips_ ,” Kurt says, as he makes a whipping motion.

“Well, it _is_ Vocal Adrenaline. They’re known for being over the top and utterly soulless. It’s kind of their whole gig. And honestly, whose idea was it to do _Whip It_? That’s just tragic.”

Kurt hides a smirk behind his coffee.

“That would be Mr. Schuester.”

Sebastian’s eyes widen, and he leans forward, on his elbows.

“Your old coach?”

Kurt nods.

“He’s coaching Vocal Adrenaline now. And I don’t know what happened, but one minute we’re agreeing on friendly competition and the next we’re mortal showchoir enemies.”

“Ouch.”

“Yeah, I know.” He takes a sip of his drink, and then sighs. “Our kids are amazing, Sebastian, they are so good. Roderick has this powerhouse voice, and Jane has insane breath control and she can do these _runs_ — and Madison and Mason? They are such natural performers!”

Sebastian can’t help the way he smiles as he listens to Kurt boasting about the kids he’s coaching. It’s just so… charming.

Kurt sighs again.

“But really, none of that is going to matter if they get their spirits crushed now and quit.”

“Wow, I can’t believe you guys beat us with an attitude like that.”

Kurt kicks him on the shin.

“Didn’t nobody ever teach you violence is never the answer?”

Kurt mock glares at him, and Sebastian just smirks.

“Look,” he starts, when he can feel Kurt’s foot moving dangerously close to his legs again. “What I’m saying here is— don’t let them see you sweat, right? So they are good. Big deal, your kids are good too. Probably even better, if we’re judging on a performer by performer basis. You obviously think your kids are the bees’ knees and all that shit, so let them know that.”

Kurt’s foot retracts, and he smiles at Sebastian, with that same softness from the night before.

“You know, you’re surprisingly good at that.”

Sebastian reaches his own foot forward then, and lightly kicks at Kurt’s shoe.

“I know. I might start charging an hourly rate.”

 

Sebastian stares at his phone, unable to convince himself that he’s worrying over nothing. 

It’s not like he and Kurt text each other everyday, or even constantly when they do text.

But the thing is: Kurt never ignores his texts.

And even though the first time Sebastian had texted him and not gotten a reply (yesterday, just a short comment about wanting to strangle people who didn’t pick up after their fucking pets) he’d just shrugged it off, thinking that he was probably busy prepping with Rachel and his glee kids, the thing is he has texted him a couple of times since, and it has still been radio silence, every time.

If it had been anyone else, he would’ve chalked it up to ghosting, but— but Kurt is not really the kind of guy who would do something like that. 

So he’s here, ignoring his lunch and staring at his phone, driving himself mad over something that is probably _nothing_. Probably just Kurt being busy and forgetful. 

“You should just call,” someone says, from behind him.

He’s startled into dropping the fork he’d been absently playing with.

He turns around on his stool.

“Dad? What are you doing here? I didn't hear the door.”

The older man smiles, and leans on the kitchen’s doorway. 

“It's been a while since you last called me that. I missed it. I came back to grab a couple of files I forgot. And I think you were a little too preoccupied to notice the door.”

He blushes.

His father chuckles.

“Now, I might be old and happily married, but I remember what it's like. If he's not calling, then there's no shame in calling him yourself. What's the worst thing that could happen? Him not picking up? It's the same end result either way, then.”

“Why are you so invested in my personal life all of a sudden?”

His father's smile dims a little.

“I'm always interested in what’s going on in your life, Sebastian. And I'm sorry if I ever did or said anything that gave you any other impression.”

Sebastian turns back towards the table and scowls down at his food, lukewarm and unappetizing, and feels a little like he's sixteen again and mad at everything for no particular reason.

There's a hand on his shoulder, suddenly. A firm grip that Sebastian knows all too well.

The touch is there and gone in a second, and when Sebastian turns around, he sees his father walking away.

“Thanks,” he croaks out. He takes a deep breath before adding, “Dad.”

His fa— his _dad_. His dad turns his head and smiles at him. 

He’s by the door when he says, “Call him.”

And then laughs at whatever face Sebastian makes at him in return, and leaves.

 

_“You’ve reached Kurt Hummel. Leave a message and I'll get back to you as soon as possible. Unless you're a telemarketer. Then, for the love of God, please stop calling.”_

He lets his phone drop, and watches it bounce on his bed a couple of times before landing on its screen.

This is the third time he calls and goes to voicemail in as many hours, and even although there are reasonable explanations for this (Kurt’s battery died, he’s still busy with Invitationals, he left his phone at home), there's this nagging ball of worry sitting in his gut and growing inside of him.

He hasn't been able to focus on much of anything, that tight little ball in his gut eating at him, heavy like lead, and Sebastian is starting to feel as though he's going crazy.

He sighs and grabs for his phone to call again, and then maybe do some Facebook stalking if Kurt still doesn't pick up to find Rachel Berry's phone number.

And then his phone starts ringing.

_Kurt._

“Yes?” He can tell he sounds a little breathy, but frankly? He’s past the point of giving a fuck. 

“Are you home?” Kurt asks, and he sounds winded and weird, and that tight ball of worry inside him expands until it feels like it's filled him whole.

“Yeah, wh—”

“I'm coming over.” 

And then he hangs up, without waiting for Sebastian's input in the matter.

 

Kurt is at his door sooner than Sebastian expected him, and he's— a mess. He looks rumpled and there are faint bags under his eyes, and his hair looks _tousled_. 

Sebastian would think he’d just gotten laid, if he didn't look so distressed too. 

He guides Kurt to his living room, and watches him collapse into an armchair.

“I need coffee. Or a bed. Or both.”

Sebastian just stares at him.

“What ha—?”

“Coffee? Please? And I’ll tell you everything.”

Sebastian frowns at how bone-weary he sounds, and not just at surface level. 

He just nods.

 

“Of course you’d have one of those trendy capsule coffee machines.” Kurt smiles at him, a little lopsided, still exhausted.

Sebastian smiles back, and sits down on the side of the couch closest to Kurt’s armchair.

“Mom is a big coffee enthusiast.”

Kurt hums.

“You don't talk much about her.”

“She's abroad for her job. France.”

Kurt hums again. He takes a sip of his coffee, closing his eyes, and he seems to melt into his armchair.

Sebastian itches to question him, but exercises some restraint in light of the way Kurt looks. Kurt will talk when he's ready, and hurrying him will probably do more harm than good.

“I spent the past twenty four hours trapped in a fake elevator with Blaine, courtesy of one Sue Sylvester,” he says, a couple of minutes later.

And Sebastian, luckily, isn't drinking anything, because he chokes on his fucking spit.

“What? A fake—? Are you okay?”

The look Kurt gives him then is so vulnerable, it makes every bone in his body ache with the need to just hug him.

“Yes? No? I don't know. Sue— she trapped us in there, and then there was this puppet look-alike of her on a tricycle telling us that the only way out was kissing each other.”

Sebastian gapes.

“Yeah. I know. She's insane.

“And— and, okay, at first we refused, but then there was the heat, and the puppet said something about airborne drugs, and even though that was probably a lie—God, I hope that was a lie—, we were just so tired and so worked up and we just wanted to get _out.”_

“So you kissed.” 

Kurt nods, looking wrecked, and Sebastian's stomach drops to his feet. 

_I will have to sit here and listen to him talk about how it set him on fire and how much he still loves Blaine Anderson and I will fucking die—_

“It was like kissing Jordan at the end of that one date,” Kurt says, then.

_What—_

“It was fine, and it was nice, and it was everything I’d missed about kissing him, but— it didn't feel _right_. It didn't feel like it used to, like it was the one thing I could do forever without getting tired.”

Sebastian just sits there, frozen, hands curled into loose fists where they rest over his thighs, clammy. 

Kurt closes his eyes for a couple of seconds, and Sebastian can't take his eyes off him. Not even when Kurt opens them again and catches him staring, like a creep.

Kurt doesn't seem to care. 

He just locks his gaze with Sebastian's and bites his lip, before saying, “I'm not in love with him anymore.”

He’s only distantly aware of the noise he makes as he lets out a shaky breath. 

“We— we talked, and we played Heads Up, and once he mentioned David, and then I mentioned _you_ , and things got a little weird, but it wasn't— those first days, just thinking about him with David was enough to make me feel nauseous. This time it was— it was just awkward. And then there was that kiss and— I love him. I think a part of me will always love him. But I'm not in love with him anymore.”

He bites his lip when he's done speaking, but his shoulders just sag, as if he’d gotten a monumental weight off his back just by saying those words out loud.

Sebastian wants— he wants so many things. Most of them impossible, and a lot of them just ill-advised, but the one thing he wants above all others right then is to reach out to Kurt.

And so he does, laying a hand on one of Kurt's.

And Kurt turns his own until they are palm to palm, and he can intertwine their fingers together.

 

They stay like that, in silence, holding hands, until Kurt starts to nod off, and then Sebastian is nudging him awake.

“C’mon, I’ll drive you home. You didn't drive here, did you?”

Kurt shakes his head and yawns. 

“I'm too pretty to die in a car wreck. Rachel dropped me off. With minimal questioning, even.”

Sebastian rolls his eyes, and helps Kurt up. 


	7. Chapter 7

“Stay.”

Sebastian turns to look at Kurt, and he’s looking up at him from under his lashes, a little coy, a lot sleepy, and he could probably ask him for a kidney right then, and Sebastian would probably comply with minimum fuss. 

“Is your dad—?”

“Still in Washington,” Kurt interrupts. Then he adds, “and I’d invite you in even if he were home. He’d probably glower at you and make you sleep in the guest bedroom, though.”

Sebastian snorts.

 

Kurt holds his hand all the way to his bedroom, and then he only lets go when he’s taking off his clothes, completely unselfconsciously of Sebastian. He rummages through a drawer on a dresser until he finds something to wear for himself, and then he turns towards Sebastian.

“Do you want some pajamas?”

Sebastian sleeps in his underwear, but the idea of wearing something of Kurt’s is strangely intimate and alluring, and Sebastian’s never been good at denying himself, so he just nods and tries not to stare at Kurt’s ass as he looks around for another pair of pajamas for him. 

Kurt catches him staring anyway, but he just raises an eyebrow and throws the clothes at him. 

Sebastian catches them in the air and imitates Kurt, shucking off his shirt and his jeans and his socks, and then staying in just his tight boxer briefs for a couple of seconds under the guise of stretching just to give Kurt a little show of his own. 

The way Kurt’s eyes trail all over him as he buttons his pajamas tells him his efforts are being appreciated.

The pajamas are a little short on him when he puts them on, but Kurt looks so fondly amused by it that Sebastian isn’t even bothered as he slips into the bed next to Kurt.

Their hands find each other again, and Sebastian would’ve never pegged himself for the cuddling sort, but he’s oddly okay with this, content with the warmth of Kurt’s hand in his as they drift off to sleep.

 

The first thing he notices upon waking up is the weight of another body against his; the next one, when he opens his eyes, is Kurt’s sleepy gaze on him.

“That’s creepy,” he says, and smiles.

Kurt rolls his eyes, and yawns.

“I wasn’t pulling an Edward Cullen on you,” he replies, and then he stretches, like a cat. “I just woke up myself.”

Sebastian makes a doubtful noise.

And gets a pillow to his face for his troubles.

 

The Hummel house looks full of life in daylight, lived in and worn and _loved_. He can see Kurt’s touch in some of the decor—a lamp that is too stylish to have been bought by anyone else, the color coordinated furniture in the den—, but he can also see other people. He can see a ballcap forgotten on a shelf, and a pair of tasteful earrings in a bowl, next to someone’s keys.

The kitchen is well-stocked and clean, but a little cluttered, and Kurt obviously knows his way around it.

“Chocolate chips or blueberries?” Kurt asks him.

Sebastian gives the question the consideration it deserves.

“Half with chips and half with blueberries.” Is what he finally decides on.

Kurt smiles and goes back to his batter and his stove.

“You are totally an only child, aren’t you?”

“And the family’s baby.”

Kurt snorts.

“Of course. That explains so much about you, Sebastian Smythe.”

Sebastian shrugs.

 

“How did you guys do at Invitationals?” He asks after he’s basically inhaled a chocolate chip pancake.

“We won, somehow,” Kurt says, as he cuts his pancakes in little almost symmetrical pieces. “Rachel convinced Kitty to come back—you know her, she was the other blonde one who competed against you guys during your senior year—, and Sam somehow convinced Spencer ‘postmodern gay teen’ Porter to join too, and then there were some setlist shenanigans that I’d rather not know about.”

“Wow.” Sebastian spears a blueberry pancake with his fork and drags it over to his plate. “Never a dull day with the New Directions.”

“Indeed.”

They both smile at each other, then.

 _I want to kiss him,_ he thinks, _I really, really want to kiss him._

And the thing is, if he’s read all of this—the hand holding, staying the night, breakfast; and even the stuff before, the looks, and the flirting— right, then he could. He could just lean over the table and _kiss_ Kurt.

His throat goes dry.

“Sebastian?” 

“Can I kiss you?”

Kurt looks a little shocked, and then he flushes, and then he bites his lip and looks down at his half-empty plate.

When he looks back up at him he’s still flushed, but he also looks pleased.

He says, “Yes, please.”

And so Sebastian is up and leaning over the table, cupping Kurt’s face with his hands and pressing their lips together. 

This? This is the spark Kurt was talking about that night after his date, he decides. This is the spark. 

Kurt sighs into the contact, and he opens his lips up to him, like an offering.

This is the flame.


	8. Epilogue

“This is a barn,” Sebastian says, because it bears repeating. “A barn. They are getting married in a barn in Indiana.”

“Well, the Indiana part can’t be helped,” Kurt counters, in defense of the brides.

“And the barn part?”

Kurt looks torned between agreeing with Sebastian over the choice of venue and remaining loyal to his friends.

“Kurt! Sebastian!”

Kurt looks so charmingly relieved by Rachel’s interruption, that Sebastian doesn’t even have to try that hard to be his nicest as she walks over. He offers her a sincere compliment on her dress, and she beams at him and tells him he looks sharp and that his tie really makes his eyes stand out, and then she’s off talking to Kurt about the glee club.

When it looks like they’re going to be a while, Sebastian excuses himself to go in search for drinks for him and Kurt.

And that’s how he runs into Blaine Anderson, as they’re both reaching for the same flute of champagne.

Their hands bump, and then they look up at each other, and he can see Blaine suppress a grimace.

“Well, this is awkward,” Sebastian says, because he hasn’t ever met an awkward situation that he couldn’t somehow make worse.

“A little,” Blaine agrees, and then sighs. “Look, I’m not— I’m not going to make a scene, or anything.”

“Not that you have any right to, but I’m glad to hear that. It’d really be a shame to ruin this high-end barn wedding over ex-boyfriend drama.”

“Sebastian, you don’t— you don’t need to be on the defensive with me, okay? I know you’ve probably heard through the grapevine that I broke up with Dave, and I know what you’re probably thinking but I’m not planning anything, I— I am still in love with Kurt, yes.”

It’s nothing that he didn’t already know, but hearing it still makes his gut churn with jealousy.

“But more importantly, I still love him. Dearly.” Blaine adds, and the truth of the statement is etched all over his face, for anyone to see. “And— and part of loving him the way I do, is respecting his happiness and letting him go.”

Blaine gives him a watery smile then.

“Just— be sure to hold on to him, okay? He’s the kind of person you only meet once in your life. Do your best to make him happy, and he’ll return the favor tenfold.”

 _I don’t need_ you _to tell me that_ , is on the tip of his tongue, but he swallows the words down.

This is a concession. Not to Sebastian, but to his relationship with Kurt, and Sebastian can respect the serious guts it probably took Blaine to just— stand there and get all that out without breaking down in tears.

So he swallows down the snark and the misplaced jealousy, and just nods once, sharp.

And then Blaine is gone.

 

 

“Hey, you took your time,” Kurt says when he comes back to him, a flute of champagne in each hand.

Sebastian drops a kiss on his lips, and lets it linger.

When they part and he sees Kurt’s fluttering eyelashes, and the way his smile grows warm and private as they look into each other’s eyes, he thinks of words it’s too soon to feel, much less say, of an unknown place he’s not quite in yet, but can see himself arriving to sooner rather than later.

He hands Kurt his champagne, and watches him take a sip, and decides to take the next step there.

“Want to come meet my dad tomorrow?”

The way Kurt lights up like a Christmas tree, even as he tries to compose himself, tells him he’s not alone.

They’re in this together, side by side.

**Author's Note:**

> The fic briefly mentions the events of episode 5x15, and also features a recount of Karofsky's harassment and sexual assault on Kurt during season two.  
> It also includes mentions of an elderly family member suffering from a stroke, and dealing with the aftermath.
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> [Come hang out with me on tumblr!](http://memekon.tumblr.com)


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